Modern Love
by secretspark89
Summary: #3. Heavy in Your Arms; Canon, Spoilers; Tag to the promo for Chasing Ghosts; Tony doesn't take no for an answer this time. / The third in a compilation of unrelated one-shots & drabbles.
1. Only girl in the world

(tony/ziva) Modern Love

Chapter 1: Only Girl (in the world)

* * *

He'd sensed it once they were alone, _her apprehension_, the team having vacated the bull pen for the evening. The tight air settled uncomfortably between them, and Tony was trying, futilely but nonetheless determinedly, to catch her attention. He threw her a few goofy glances, pounded his keyboard unnecessarily hard, feigning technical difficulty, and let out a few meticulously timed sighs.

All he wanted was to elicit some sort of reaction from her, but alas, he got nothing.

And when she gathered her things to leave, all Tony could do was follow suit, quietly keeping pace two steps behind her like a sad, scolded puppy.

…

She'd been home less than half an hour, barely enough time to shower, when he knocked on her door.

Ziva padded barefoot down the short spans of hardwood flooring, squeezing the excess water out of her hair into a fluffy blue towel, and opened the door.

"Tony," she breathed.

He brushed past her hurriedly, dropping his gear at her feet. "One second," he called over his shoulder, lifting a finger to mimic his words. "Little boy's room."

"_Can I help you_?"

But before he had a chance to answer, there was a second knock on her door.

_Two visitors in one night? Unlikely._

"Are you being chased, Tony?" she teased loudly.

_It was probably the single dad from downstairs who kept asking Ziva to ping his daughter's cell phone. _

_Ugh._

A hard knock came again; "Delivery!"

She opened the door to find a teenage boy carrying a rather hefty looking brown paper bag.

And from the looks of it, something had leaked, she noticed, the bottom soaked with, _was that grease, or duck sauce_?

_She hoped the latter._

"$15.50," he specified hastily.

"Is that the food, Ziva?" Tony yelled, his voice echoing from behind the wooden door of the bathroom. "My wallet is in the front pocket."

She weighed her options, finally acquiesced with the idea of Tony's company for the evening, _he was already here anyways_, and she dug his wallet out of his big, black utility backpack, handing the fresh faced kid a crisp twenty.

"Thanks!"

_And when Ziva kneeled down to put Tony's wallet back in place, she saw it._

Her eyes fell upon an old, creased, _all too familiar picture_. She stole a quick glance behind her before unfolding it, an unintentional smile finding its way to her lips.

It was crumpled, having been tucked in the far right corner of the old leather lining, behind a bunch of twenty and fifty dollar bills.

_It was her._

_It was Ziva, in her black bikini on that old beach chair by the pool in LA._

_He'd kept it, for what?_

_Five years._

Ziva heard the creaking bathroom door, and she quickly shoved everything back into place, heading for the kitchen, pulling two stools towards the island.

"We all good?" Tony asked. He took the plates and silverware from her hands, eager to steal even the slightest touch, the smallest glance.

And Ziva allowed it, _the slight brush of his fingers_, wondering for a moment how she'd let herself get so worked up, _for nothing_.

"Yes, Tony," she smiled. "We are good."

Fin.

* * *

A/N; I posted this to tumblr earlier, but I thought it would be a good way to start a place where I'll keep my drabbles and such in regards to t/z. Just because I can't turn all my little plot bunnies into full chapter fics!

Anywho, thanks for reading;

reviews would be lovely!

Katie.


	2. She Got the Honey

(tony/ziva) She Got the Honey

She got the loving, leaves me with nothing, I just don't know what to say  
Well I'd beg, steal, and borrow if tomorrow she'd stay  
She got the honey, I don't think it's funny that she keeps walking away  
Back to the beginning  
Back to the beginning.

* * *

It was a Tuesday night, the first time Tony had seen it; that painful flash of jealousy that marred the pretty features of her face.

They were sitting side by side in a corner booth at McIntire's Bar, actively being ignored by their tablemates Abby and McGee, _unintentionally of course_, as they rambled on about Major Mass Spec's latest antics.

_According to Tim, it was a spiteful, grudge bearing machine in the Goth's absence._

And as Courtney, their young blonde waitress, sauntered away from the table with their drink orders, Ziva let out soft sigh, audible only to Tony in light of their intimacy. He looked down, finding her head bowed, soft curls covering most of her face as they tumbled past her shoulders. But as she sat in silence, lips in a slight pout, _snapping fresh celery sticks from their appetizer platter into tiny little pieces_, Tony couldn't help but notice the hurt in her eyes.

_Her eyes._

_They never did shut the hell up._

And within seconds, _with one last damning snap_, Ziva met his gaze, quirking a brow in mock irritation. "_What_, Tony?"

_Was it possible that she still didn't know?_

_Was it actually possible that Ziva David, ex-Mossad officer and trained investigator, was still oblivious to the fact that she had literally ruined him for all other women?_

_That each and every day, with the single exception of official NCIS business, his sole purpose in getting out of bed was to make her smile, one of those pure, unadulterated smiles, where she took her bottom lip between her teeth._

_The one that gave him thoughts worthy of a Gibbs' slap._

_How could she not see that when he'd used his patent DiNozzo charm on poor, unsuspecting Courtney, telling her that, 'for her first week on the job, she was one of the best waitresses he'd ever had the pleasure of having', and sending her off with a wink, he'd merely been taking pity on the poor, bumbling creature?_

Ziva inched away from him, further into the plush booth, and the sudden, cold disconnect bothered Tony more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

He was too tired, the toll of a 72 hour shift wreaking havoc on his back and mind, his head swimming with questions he would rather not muse in his sleep deprived state.

_Why was Ziva taking his harmless flirting to heart, and not for what they both knew it was: a means to an end?_

_An end that featured the two of them._

_Together._

'_Endgame', _he was pretty sure, was the term he was looking for; it was one of those words Tim had explained that night they'd stayed in playing video games, but he was sure it was still applicable in this situation.

_He'd double check tomorrow, regardless, just to make sure._

He turned back to Ziva, with her slouched shoulders and forged smile, and watched as she was finally enticed into conversation from across the table; but Tony leaned back, content in half-listening as he racked his brain for _that moment_.

_That exact moment when she started expecting his full attention, even in plain sight of their co-workers._

Not that he had any intentions in denying her of such.

Within minutes Courtney returned with their refills, and Tony wasted no time in taking advantage of her presence. He hastily shuffled in towards Ziva, generously making up for her earlier disengagement, and casually threw his left arm over her shoulders, _a preemptive strike against any plan she might have had to escape_. "Sorry," he whispered. "She was going to spill something on me, and this," he peered down at his attire, rumpled from a hard day's work, "is a nice suit."

He left his gaze on Ziva until long after their waitress had walked away, awkwardly faltering over her words at the next table.

"What?" she asked coyly; her tired brown eyes met his. "What are you looking at?"

_But she was amused._

_She knew_.

Tony shrugged, as if his intentions should have been obvious. "You look nice today," he said candidly.

"Tony," she laughed softly. "I have been wearing these clothes for two days, and I am fairly certain," she tapped her cheek with her hand, "any make up I applied has all but worn off." Her tone clearly dismissed his remark, but he took note of the way her lips tugged to the left, eyes shifting down in an attempt to hide her blush.

"Could've fooled me," he said pointedly. "Must be hard."

"_What _must be hard?"

"The curse of natural beauty," he answered evenly.

Ziva stared at him for a moment, awestruck at his words, _at his inadvertent admission that_ _he thought she was beautiful_, but his attentions were quickly focused back to his plate of Buffalo wings, so she in turn went back to her celery pieces, commandeering the small dollop of ranch dressing.

And as expected, the next time she looked up at him, there was some stupid, goofy grin plastered on his face.

_And just like that, their moment was over._

_For now._

_And Abby and McGee were none the wiser._

"I'm telling you, Abby," McGee pressed on. "He hates me."

Ziva narrowed her eyes in confusion; "_Who_ hates you?"

"Major Mass Spec. Just take my word for it," Tim ran a hand through his short locks.

"I believe you, McGoo," Tony agreed cheekily. "If anyone can tell, it'd be you. You're just so…," his eyes shifted in Ziva's direction, donning a roguish grin, "_perceptive._"

* * *

A/N:

So I originally posted this to tumblr about a week ago, so this may be a re-read for some of you; but I ended up liking it more than I originally thought I would- so I wanted to share it here as well. =)

It was actually a drabble request/prompt from Hakunaamatataa, so thanks for that!

Anyways, I hope you guys like it- Again, thanks for all the love on my other three active T/Z stories.

**You are the best.**

(and by the way, I'm thinking about doing a little one shot that may turn into more, based on the press release for '_Chasing Ghosts_'. It's leaning towards that shocking discovery Tony makes about how Ziva is coping with Eli's death being that she's taken up some sort of intense martial arts or MMA, or something along those lines; and obviously Tony is the one to find her bruises or whatnot. So we'll see where that plot bunny takes me.)

Oh, the woes of a shipper.

Reviews, as always, are lovely.

-Katie


	3. Heavy in Your Arms

Tag to the promo for Chasing Ghosts;

* * *

(tony/ziva) Heavy in Your Arms

This will be my last confession  
I love you never felt like any blessing  
Whispering like it's a secret  
Only to condemn the one who hears it  
With a heavy heart

* * *

Ziva lowered her gun with hesitance, her eyes shifting uneasily under the weight of his gaze.

"You gonna' let me in?" Tony asked, his left brow cocked in question. "Not exactly the best neighborhood," he pointed out brusquely.

Ziva slinked over the threshold, forcing Tony back a step, and locked the door with a quick _click_. "You followed me," she accused. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" he countermanded. "_And where in the Hell are we_?" He looked around at the dingy hallway of motel, resolute it was pay-by-the-hour.

_It looked like a damn crime scene_.

But he didn't need an answer. Tony knew exactly what she was doing;

She was planning.

_She was plotting_.

_She was plotting revenge_.

Ziva rested her weight on the door frame of room #415, head tilted to the left, eyes narrowed in classic David-defiance. "Go home, Tony," she said slowly.

"Um,_ no_," he retorted cheekily. His phone felt heavy in his left pocket, and Tony suddenly regretted telling Gibbs that he had everything under control. The wash of calm over her features, the wide stance, _the sheer nonchalance at the fact she'd just been caught red-handed_;

_Ziva David was definitely not in control._

He stared down at her, suddenly aware of how petite she truly was: no taller than 5'5'', no heavier than a buck ten.

_Maybe a buck twenty_.

And if he didn't know better, _if he didn't know all-too-well the brutal punch her little fists could pack_, he'd have had no problem tossing her in a fireman hold and shouldering the door open himself.

Tony nudged her chin up with his thumb, forcing Ziva to meet his gaze, his fingers lingering seconds too long on her overheated skin. "Let me in," he pleaded.

Ziva's lips parted to reject him_, a rather snarky comment on the tip of her tongue_, but the intensity in his green eyes gave him away; he wasn't asking permission into her fifty dollar a night motel room.

"_Let me in_," he repeated.

"You do not trust me," she stated flatly.

"I trust you with my life," he answered honestly. She remained motionless, _stoic_, and he took hold of her arms in pure frustration, giving her a light shake. "I trust you with my life," he whispered again, slowly annunciating every word, stressing their significance. "I just don't trust you with your own."

_Let me in_.

Ziva unlocked the door behind her; "_Okay."_

* * *

A/N.

Excuse me while I flail about in fangirl Heaven;

I'm literally not going to make it to next week, so I should say: it was nice meeting all of you.

I'll see you on the other side. Gaaaah!

+ Also, Chemistry of a Car Crash will be updated tomorrow.

See you on the flipside.


End file.
